


catch the stars and pull them down

by whisperedsilvers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, F/M, Student!Sansa, ta!jamie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 00:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18712999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperedsilvers/pseuds/whisperedsilvers
Summary: It takes one high-kick for Jamie to fall, quite literally, in love. —Jamie/Sansa





	catch the stars and pull them down

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to say, that I've been sucked into this fandom without a second thought and I hate myself for being so stupid. I also have not read the books or actually watched a full episode of this freakin' show —at all. It's all because of the copious amounts of fanfiction I inhaled during Spring Break that I actually can WRITE something. Just a fair warning - if I, somehow, fuck up. LOL.

It takes Tyrion eight minutes to stop his fit altogether. It was even. Four minutes of laughing and four minutes of choking; while Margaery in some way, manages to swallow her hysterical giggle that bubbles in the back of her throat.

“I’m sorry—” Tyrion hacks – coughs – bringing his hand to rub across his mouth as another tither falls out of his lips, he snorts, “Did you just say, that Sansa Stark, my lovely, wonderful, delicate intern—shoved you into a  _fountain_?”

Margaery breathes through her nose, “Sansa—my  _best friend_ , pushed you,” blue eyes incredulous, “Pushed your six foot two, boxer-buffoon, muscle-headed ass into the fountain?” she pauses and arches a brow, “ _My_ Sansa?”

Jamie’s eyebrow twitches and hisses, “Are you two quite  _finished_?”

Tyrion breaks out into laughter again and heaves against Margery’s neck as he tries to compose himself.

Margaery shakes her head and smiles nearly cracks her face in half, “Well—get on with it,” she sips her water to hide her giggle, “How did this happen?”

.

Sansa groans when the sun hits her face. Modern lit sounds fun, in theory, but there’s only so much analyzing and discussion for each paper until you’re grasping at straws. Even the lectures, while mandatory, are quite, cut and dry for her tastes. It’s a roundabout way. There is never a straight answer, while it is expected for most literature and English classes, it’s perhaps Professor Greyjoy’s voice as he rambles – nevermind that Theon probably takes after his mother rather than his father – but at least, he’ll give her a good grade when the semester is over; not that she didn’t work for her grade, but it’s the consideration! — that counts after all.

She places her sunglasses on the crown of her head.

She’s morning person, she’s always been a morning person, but  _God_ , six am is just  _brutal_. It’s a three-hour class and Sansa feels like her stomach is about to crawl up her throat and die there. She checks her watch and at exactly nine oh five, she makes her way down the steps of the arts building and sends a text to Robb.

To: Robb

From: Sansa

9:06am — Robbbbbb, please, tell me you’re awake, I feel like my stomach is going to die. Is Jeyne working today? I want. WAFFLES.

There is nothing better than the taste of  _free_ waffles, waffles that she drowns in syrup and butter. The fluffy taste of buttermilk, of the pillow-y texture of the bounce and steam of its beautiful porous—

—a hand suddenly grabbed onto her shoulder. A strong, hefty weight that presses against her shoulder bone. The hand is large, rough and more importantly  _strong._ Sansa’s instincts take control of her brain, so she grabs the wrist on her shoulder, shoves her foot into her offender’s gut and  _presses._

The sputter and splash of water has her spinning in—

—oh  _shit._

Jamie Lannister, her TA in business policy stares at her with such disbelief that he can hardly control his own breathing. His emerald eyes widen in shock, his pretty mouth parted, his light blue shirt half drenched – his fucking nipples are  _visible_ – dress pants soaked and his tie askew. Blonde hair matted at the back of his neck, one hand holding his weight on the fountain floor and the other holding a pair of black, Prada sunglasses—

—she kicked her TA into the fountain in the middle of campus after he tries to return her sunglasses—

Sansa is mortified.

“P-Professor,” Sansa starts off weakly, her face pales even more when she notices the rest of the student body starting to stop and stare. She cringes, face burning a dull red as she walks closer to the fountain, she offers him a hand and stammers, “I’m so, so  _sorry_ I—”

Her voice breaks into a high-pitched squeak, his hand wraps around her small, dainty wrist, and  _tugs._ Sansa flies into the fountain, her knees fold sideways, half of her body falls onto Jamie and she is  _soaking._

Sansa blinks rapidly, “W—What,” her eyes narrow in comprehension, “What the  _hell_?”

Jamie huffs in indignation, “Now,” his voice takes on a tone of one that is both sardonic and mocking, “We’re even.”

She gapes, hair redder than vermillion in the summer, she swipes her hands down her cheeks angrily and scowls, “Even? It was an accident!”

Emerald orbs crackle, “You  _kicked_ me into a fountain!”

“You put your hands on me!” Sansa exclaims and sits up, “Not exactly  _appropriate_.”

“I touched your shoulder!” Jamie snaps.

“Without announcing yourself!” she replies hotly and stands up suddenly. The weight of her shirt nearly has her toppling, but she manages to keep her balance, “Do you know how many sexual harassment cases there are—”

“ _Sexual harassment_?” Jamie stands up so abruptly, that she feels almost dwarfed, “I walked down the steps of the Iron Isle Arts Building, to find a student, whose sunglasses – which is worth more than a lunch card – slip and fall onto the concrete. And when I try and return said sunglasses, like the good person I  _am_ ,” she snorts here, “I get kicked in the stomach by  _Princess Merida_  into a fucking  _fountain._ ”

  _Princess Merida?!_

“Do you have any idea how many cases there are of unwanted touching there are?” Sansa sighs irritably, “Look, I’m sorry for kicking you, but you should’ve called out to me first—what if you were a pervert?”

Jamie gapes for a moment, watching her slide her long legs over the rim of the fountain and repeats with disbelief, “A  _pervert_? You think I—”

“Hey, Stark!” Ramsay’s slimy voice makes goose pimples appear at the back of her knees up to her thighs and down her arms. He laughs, rambunctiously, obnoxiously, “Taking hot and wet to a new level, huh?”

Sansa flinches at the sound of laughter.

And Jamie snarls, “Bolton—one more word and I’ll have you  _expelled_ ,” he hurdles over the rims of the fountain, ignores the students grumbling, but at least they’re leaving, runs a hand through blonde hair and sighs, “Alright, I see your point. I’m sorry, here,” he hands her the shades and yanks off his tie, “I’ll be sure to call out your name, the next time I touch you.”

And Sansa blames every God she can  _think_ of, because the suggestiveness of his statement is just beyond her.

“The next time?” she squeaks and tries to hide her blush by ringing out her hair.

Jamie blinks and almost smiles at the way she tries to avoid looking at him, “Well, we are only four weeks into the semester. Yara isn’t exactly the best at articulating.”

Sansa stares and tries to keep her face looked on his—his nose because if she stares at his lips or his eyes, she’s fucking  _screwed._ It’s not  _fair,_ for any man, to be that goddamned attractive and now he’s wet and it’s—

“Right,” Sansa blinks and grabs her bag that, thankfully, slipped out of her hands before she went flying into the water, from the ground and stammers, “I should go—change. Professor—”

“Please,” he winces, “Call me Jamie. I’m not a professor.”

_Ohgodohgodohgodohgod_

“I don’t think that’s very appropriate,” Sansa tries to keep her dignity intact, despite her looking like a wet rat, she tries to keep some  _distance_ because his  _chest_ is very,  _very_ visible and he’s walking closer and, “I’m still a student and—”

“Are you trying to say that I’m not a student as well?” he quirks a brow.

“I—I,” she swallows and cocks a shoulder awkwardly, “I don’t know?”

“I’m a graduate student—Greyjoy explained that the first day of class—”

Sansa phone rings and it’s  _Robb_.

She answers on the first ring, “Robb,” she sounds relieved and is she.

“Where the hell are you Sansa? I’m waiting at the corner booth with two plates of waffles, didn’t you say you were hungry—I got up just for you!”

Jamie’s eyebrows raise at the sound of Robb’s loud, angry voice.

Sansa giggles hysterically, “Ah, I might be a little late. But I’m coming now!”

“Boyfriend?” he asks, golden and warm.

“Brother,” she corrects and ends the call, “Um, I have to go and, bye!”

And Sansa  _runs._

.

Margaery is laughing and spilling her water without any sense of care, she breathes, “And she just  _ran away?_ ”

Jamie glares furiously.

“I don’t blame her,” Tyrin sobers up and sniffs, “If I got pulled into a fountain by a pervert, I would’ve run too.”

“I am  _not_ —”

Margaery shakes her head, “God, you can’t be normal, can’t you? Just talk to her after class.”

“And ambush her?” Tyrion snorts, “Probably scare the living daylights out of her. Do you know who her father is? He gives father a migraine.”

 “I  _know_ who he is,” Jamie rolls his eyes, “I just—”

“You  _like_ her,” Margaery’s eyes sharpen to that of a knife, “If you hurt her, I will rip out your liver and burn it. Right in front of you.”

“Scandalous,” Tyrion pours himself some scotch, “A TA and a student. Wait till the press hears.”

“I’m not going to do anything,” Jamie scowls, “Especially while I’m interning, I don’t even want to fucking teach. I’m just doing this to get away from Cersei.”

“So then go back to the law firm,” Tyrion says, “Another one. Or convince father to open up another location. S’not that big a deal.”

“You’re slurring, little brother,”

“Oh, piss off.”

Jamie sighs and looks out the window.

Just  _two months._

Two months and then something.

Maybe.


End file.
